by Zac Gorman
The fingers poked deeper into her brain and she winced, trying to keep focused.
“Now, Ingo Larkspur, there was a simple boy. He wanted power, he wanted to be King. So I brought him here and we made a deal. Easy. Done.”
“You made him do it?” Thisby choked.
The hideous laughter almost swallowed her.
“Made him? I barely had to ask. He would’ve done it anyway. Displaced her the moment he had the opportunity. But he was a coward and I was impatient. So I gave him a nudge. The deal was perfect: he gets the kingdom and I get my freedom. Best of all, one day he can sleep easy on his ill-gotten throne. Who could blame him, after all? It was me, the great manipulator. The Eyes in the Dark. The corrupter of ‘innocent’ men. You see now, Thisby, don’t you? He could have done it any time. He had all the opportunity in the world. Why jump through all the hoops? Ingo isn’t stupid. Why free me? Why? Why risk everything?”
Thisby felt the answer welling up inside her like she’d eaten something rotten.
“Because once I gave him the nudge, it was no longer his fault.”
Thisby felt sick.
“That was what he wanted. It’s what everybody wants, my darling! Freedom from the responsibility of their awful, selfish decisions! I can provide that. And there’s nothing more valuable in the entire world.”
There was something about being here in this place. Something that made her angry, hateful, and, more than anything, scared. It made her feel as if giving in to those horrible feelings, giving in to the darkest parts of herself, would somehow make it all go away. But that wasn’t quite it. It was more like, the fear and the hatred would still be there, only she’d be able to view it all from the outside, from a place where she’d be safe from the worst of it.
She thought about the Deep Dwellers. About how living so close to something that made her feel like she did right now might twist you over time. After all the stories she’d heard from Grunda when she was a child, had the Deep Dwellers really seemed so evil? Or were they just scared? If she’d had to live with this feeling, the one she had right now that was eating up her insides, did she really think she’d be any different?
“You make them afraid,” she said.
The Eyes in the Dark choked on a laugh. It was the most terrible noise Thisby had ever heard.
“Humans are afraid of everything! Even your Master is afraid of his own monsters! Meanwhile, the monsters are afraid of the Deep Dwellers and, yes, the Deep Dwellers are afraid of me—that is true. But I don’t need to make anyone afraid, my darling. They were born afraid. Everyone is born afraid. Just like you.
“Without fear, there would be no dungeon. So you can bury your head in the sand if you’d like, or you can grow up, my sweet girl. You can grow up and I can help you. I can help you have your heart’s desire, and nobody will blame you. You won’t even blame yourself. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Something stirred inside Thisby. It was an awful, wretched little black spot near her heart, and it did want something.
“Tell me, Thisby. Tell me, my sweet girl . . . ,” said the Eyes in the Dark. “Everybody wants something. You don’t even need to say it out loud. I know what’s in your heart. Just tell me. Just tell yourself. What is it that you want?”
Thisby tried her best to clear her mind, to not allow him into her head, but she couldn’t resist. It turned out there was something she wanted. Something she wanted more than anything in the entire world. She felt embarrassed by how obvious it was. It was something she hadn’t realized she’d wanted herself until recently, but now it was the only thing that she could ever remember wanting . . .
“YOU WANT ME TO CRAWL UP MY OWN WHAT AND DIE?!?” the voice boomed.
Thisby had already turned and was running full steam back in the direction she’d come. At least, to the best of her knowledge she was. It was impossible to tell in the dark. The heat swelled behind her, and she could feel a horrible anger burning inside her head. Screaming at her. She’d gotten its attention at least.
She dove to the ground, ignoring the burning, and began to frantically search for the blackdoor. No more games. She was going to find that stupid bead or die down here looking for it, but she wasn’t going to spend another minute talking to some creepy disembodied voice in the darkness, poking around inside her brain.
The room felt as if it were growing smaller. Either that, or something was closing in around her. The darkness began to swirl, and faint patterns began to emerge. Thisby tried to convince herself it was all in her head, but it was easier said than done.
Her hands groped around on the floor, burning against the hot stone. Finally, her fingers touched something small and round. She grabbed it and smashed it against the ground.
The cavern lit up in a flash of magical light, piercing the darkness, and for a moment, in the sparkling glow of the blackdoor, she saw it. She wasn’t standing on solid ground at all. As the scales moved beneath her feet, she realized what she was actually standing on was the back of a dragon as big as the mountain itself. The Black Dragon. Its voice boomed from beneath her feet, its curses echoing off the cavern walls. The moment before she plunged through the blackdoor, she saw something far off in the distance. It was something she would remember for a very long time. The horrible yellow eye of the dragon, as big as the moon, staring right at her.
It was something she would remember for a very long time.
Chapter 24
The Master of the Black Mountain lay back in his bubble bath trying hard to soak off the stress of the last few days. He’d been in there for hours, however, and he was beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that all the Epsom salts and rose hips in Nth weren’t going to bring him any peace of mind tonight. He reached around blindly, refusing to open his eyes lest he risk knocking off the precariously placed cucumber slices, until his pruny fingers found a little silver bell that had been placed on a nearby table. He rang it gingerly.
A large creature, stitched together from several of the Master’s previous servants who had since expired, galumphed into the room, letting some of the steam escape through the crack in the door. It was wearing an apron because it had been baking. Not for the Master. Just for fun. Monsters have hobbies, too.
THOOOOM!
The entire room shook violently, knocking several bottles of neatly arranged toiletries to the bathroom floor. The Master sighed heavily.
“Harold, is there any news?”
Harold nodded glumly.
“Honestly, I can’t believe they’re still at it! Don’t they know when to quit?”
The Master took the cucumber slices off his eyes and climbed out of the bath. Harold handed him a towel and tried his best not to look at the wrinkled old man drying off in front of him.
He sighed again as he pulled on his bathrobe. “Well, I suppose I better check in and see how it’s going.”
The banging had been happening every few minutes for the last twenty-four hours. It was a horrible racket. So far, it had ruined two baths, quiet reading time, naptime, snack time, and his violin practice.
THOOOOM!
The halls shook as the Master waddled through the castle, still in his bathrobe, leaving wet footprints as he went. He made his way down to the chamber and whispered the secret of magic into the door. Then in he went, over to his machine, flipping everything on as if by rote and plopping down in the seat.
The machine whirred and ground to life, grabbing the proper crystal ball and setting it down into the slot. On a nearby screen, it projected the image contained inside the scrying sphere, large enough for him see.
He sighed yet again. He’d been doing that a lot lately.
He watched the Deep Dwellers on the other side of the gate ready their machine and throw the switch. The Master grabbed on to the arms of his seat, knowing what was coming.
THOOOOM!
The whole room shook as the Deep Dwellers’ machine smashed into the blackweave gate above the Darkwell yet again. The crystal balls in hi
s chamber clinked together like wineglasses after a toast. He squinted and tried to study the screen.
The gate was badly damaged. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon they’d smash it down and be inside the dungeon. His dungeon. It was only a matter of time before they made it all the way to his castle.
He wondered how long his guards would stick around. They weren’t very loyal. He’d given them very little reason to be. They weren’t paid well, and he wasn’t particularly kind to them. In fact, he thought sometimes it was a miracle they hadn’t revolted already. How long they’d risk their lives in a full-blown Deep Dweller raid was anyone’s guess.
THOOOOM!
He pulled some levers on the blackdoor machine, and one of the arms swung around in a broad, sweeping arc, coming to rest over a different crystal ball. It was promptly loaded into the slot, and a new image graced the screen. It was Roquat. Or at least, it used to be Roquat.
The Master sighed. He’d never particularly cared for the Dünkeldwarf, but Roquat had served him well over the past few decades. Well, until he’d struck up a deal with the Deep Dwellers to become the new Master of the Black Mountain, thus betraying him. Still, this brand of treachery was nothing new to the mountain, and at least Roquat usually showed up to work on time.
The Master had been watching the entire drama in his dungeon unfold from the safety of his machine for the past several days. It’d been quite the exhausting emotional roller coaster, and he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t over yet. His suspicion was confirmed when he looked down to see somebody crawling through a blackdoor on the floor near the machine in which he sat.
“Hello?” he called.
THOOOOM!
A filthy girl with a pointy nose crawled up through the portal and nearly collapsed on his floor. The Master studied her from his seat in the machine. She looked familiar.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Thisby picked herself up.
“You work in the dungeon, right? You’re the gamekeeper?”
He’d seen her involvement in the last few days but he’d forgotten her name. He must’ve heard it a dozen times. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue.
“Thistle, right?”
Thisby staggered over toward him. The Master stayed in his seat, elevated high above her. He was getting a bit nervous by her lack of response and starting to wonder if he should yell for his guards.
“We need to stop them,” she said at last.
The Master thought for a moment. She had a point. The Deep Dwellers were definitely going to kill him, and yet, from his current position, he didn’t really see all that much he could do. He also didn’t particularly care for the familiarity of her tone when she addressed him.
“It’s too late. They’ll be through the gate any minute now, I’m afraid,” he said. “I suppose you’re welcome to stay here, although it’s only a matter of time before they get in here as well.”
Thisby looked up and saw Roquat’s body on the screen. He was lying on the ground facedown in the dirt, somewhere in the Deep Down. It almost looked like he was sleeping.
“Can this show me anybody in the dungeon?” Thisby asked, pointing at the screen.
The Master’s face lit up. Finally, something he was interested in!
“Why, yes! It does! You jus—”
“Show me Iphigenia,” interrupted Thisby.
The Master made a face like a child who’d just dropped his ice cream, but obediently followed her instructions anyway. He pulled the levers, and a new orb was slotted into place. Iphigenia and Catface appeared on the screen. They were still in the Deep Down, making their way toward the surface.
Thisby smiled. Iphigenia was wearing Thisby’s backpack, and for the first time she was able to see what it looked like on someone else. It was enormous. It looked like Iphigenia might be crushed beneath it. Mingus swayed from his usual hook. He was glowing again. That was a good sign. Poor Mingus. He hadn’t meant to do anything wrong; he was just terrified of ever going back to the Deep Down, and yet he’d gone anyway. He’d gone back to the place that he feared the most simply because Thisby had asked him to. He was a good friend.
“Good,” said Thisby. “They’re still alive. Can we get them out?”
The Master shook his head.
“Even though the magic of the Darkwell is broken, blackdoors to the Deep Down aren’t like normal ones. They take time to make. Sometimes days. It’s a real hassle. You have to plan for that sort of thing way in advance.”
“Like Roquat did? He must’ve made a dozen of them without you even noticing,” said Thisby.
The Master frowned at her. She wasn’t being very nice.
“You know, I’m still in charge here,” he muttered weakly.
Thisby ignored him.
“Iphigenia will be safe with Catface for now. Start working on bringing them out. In the meantime, there’s something else I have to do,” said Thisby, dusting herself off. “Tell me . . . how long do we have until the Darkwell breaks and how fast can you make blackdoors?”
Chapter 25
Iphigenia’s legs had sunk so deep into Catface’s inky black fur that from a distance she looked like a floating torso—a torso wearing an enormous backpack, of course. Mingus swayed in his jar as they trotted along. Iphigenia watched him staring off into the distance, glowing faintly.
After Thisby had stormed off, they’d gone looking for her, but by the time they got to where she’d been, all that was left was the disturbed earth where she’d fallen and a trace of blood in the dirt. Iphigenia had wanted to stay, wanted to keep looking, but before long more Deep Dwellers arrived, and they had had no choice but to leave. She’d told herself that once they reached the Master’s chamber and found Ingo, she’d be able to look for her, that once they found her, she’d use her father’s army to bring Thisby back from the Deep Down if she must—but it only helped so much.
Since they’d parted ways, Iphigenia had begun to find herself wishing Thisby was still around. She missed talking to her, being around her. She’d even caught herself thinking it might be nice if Thisby came out to the castle to visit her sometime. Maybe they could go down to the shops together, or take in a play. It was all very confusing, and Iphigenia didn’t know what to make of it.
Iphigenia had never had a friend before. Being her friend required certain levels of patience, and the sort of people who tolerated her hardheadedness usually had ulterior motives—such as getting closer to her brother or father—and they could hardly be considered real, genuine friends. Honestly, she’d never minded the solitude before. She was too stubborn to be lonely and too proud to lower her standards, and yet now, after having a glimpse of what it felt like to have an actual friend . . . the thought of losing that feeling made her miserable. It was like living in the cold your whole life. It was fine, so long as you never got to spend a day on the beach. After that, the cold could feel almost unbearable.
Mingus wasn’t taking it well, either. Iphigenia couldn’t read people as well as her brother could, but since Thisby had gone missing, Mingus had barely said a word. It wasn’t hard to realize that he blamed himself.
“She’ll be all right,” she said, both for Mingus’s and her own benefit.
The absurdity of her desire to comfort a slime monster didn’t sink in until the words had fully left her mouth. She knitted her brow and stared straight ahead, straightening her posture a little under the weight of Thisby’s backpack.
“I should’ve said something sooner,” Mingus said somberly, forgetting to move his mouth when he spoke.
Iphigenia almost said something else, but instead her mouth just opened and shut several times as the words got stuck somewhere between her brain and tongue. Finally, she just sighed, surrendering to an awkward silence.
They lurched to a stop and Catface’s ears stood on end. Thisby could feel the fur on his neck bristle around her.
“Quiet!” he said.
He crouched down low to the ground and crept forwa
rd, moving with the shadows. He darted out from the tunnel into a much larger chamber and then jumped back and forth, climbing like a mountain goat to the top of a rock wall. Moving silently, he passed through a stone archway and peeked out to the other side.
Iphigenia’s jaw dropped. Hundreds upon hundreds of Deep Dwellers of every shape and size imaginable—from lumbering giants to creatures no larger than a common goblin—flooded the chamber below. There were more here than Iphigenia had seen in her entire time so far in the Deep Down, and worse yet, they were organized.
Hundreds upon hundreds of Deep Dwellers of every shape and size imaginable—from lumbering giants to creatures no larger than a common goblin—flooded the chamber below.
In the center of the room, below the Darkwell, stood a device the size of a tall ship that was shaped like a child’s swing set. Several ropes hung off the sides of what looked like a large steel drill, which hung from the crossbars like a pendulum. Creatures that must have been as big as Catface grabbed hold of the ropes, and to the beat of a drum they drew them back, back, back . . . and then . . . released.
THOOOOM!
The entire cavern shook as the drill swung forward and smashed into the blackweave gate. They’d heard the noise on their approach to the Darkwell and prepared for the worst, but Iphigenia still felt unnerved by what she saw. These weren’t mindless monsters smashing at the gates with their fists. Catface was right: this was an army.
They crept around the outside of the cavern, keeping low to avoid the gaze of cautious or bored monsters who might be looking around. They were high enough above to move with little risk of being spotted, but all it would take was one stray eye to catch sight of them, and suddenly they’d be at the mercy of an entire army. Catface crouched low, his belly flat against the rock as they watched.